


The Time of Love Should Last Forever

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 19:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11675817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: Enjolras sighed heavily. “Today is my parents’ 35th wedding anniversary,” he told Grantaire, his expression souring.Grantaire blinked at him. “Uh…congratulations?”If anything, Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Yeah, 35 years of misery is the kind of thing that people should be congratulated for,” he muttered.





	The Time of Love Should Last Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, it's been awhile, hasn't it?
> 
> Dedicated to my parents, who celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary yesterday (though, thankfully, their marriage is the opposite of Enjolras's parents'). Title is from the Brick.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“Honey, I’m home!” Grantaire called, letting their apartment door close behind him with a slam and thoroughly expecting Enjolras to look up sharply from wherever he was inevitably perched with his laptop to either scold Grantaire for letting the door slam or for calling him ‘honey’.

A whole year of dating and Grantaire still felt like it was going to be an off night if it didn’t start with Enjolras scolding him for something.

Clearly, tonight was going to be one of those off nights, since Enjolras was sitting on the couch and staring at the TV, which was blaring MSNBC, and only acknowledged Grantaire’s presence with a small, distracted wave, a glass of amber liquid on the coffee table in front of him. Grantaire frowned. “Hey, drinking alone is my purview,” he jokingly complained, mostly to hide his concern as he crossed over to Enjolras and bent over to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I mean, I know you’re devastated that Scaramucci didn’t even last two whole weeks, but…”

He trailed off expectantly, waiting for a smile or a scoff but Enjolras just shrugged and Grantaire sighed, dumping his backpack on the ground before settling in on the couch next to him. “Are you gonna actually talk to me and tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?” he asked, grabbing Enjolras’s glass and throwing back its contents in one gulp.

For the first time, something flickered on Enjolras’s face and he scowled at Grantaire. “That was mine,” he said.

“I can always pour you another if you really want it,” Grantaire said, making a face. “But since that tasted like exceedingly watered down whiskey, I’m assuming you’ve had it poured for long enough for the ice to melt without actually drinking it.” He fixed Enjolras with a pointed stare. “So how about we make this the part of the conversation where you tell me what’s going on?”

Enjolras sighed heavily. “Today is my parents’ 35th wedding anniversary,” he told Grantaire, his expression souring.

Grantaire blinked at him. “Uh…congratulations?”

If anything, Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Yeah, 35 years of misery is the kind of thing that people should be congratulated for,” he muttered.

“So, I mean, not to try and ruin this delightfully foul mood you’ve created for yourself here, but even if their marriage hasn’t exactly been butterflies and rainbows, first and foremost, why do you care, and secondly, well, why do you care?”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed and he was silent for a moment before he huffed a sigh and shrugged, running a tired hand across his face. “Honestly, I don’t know why I care,” he said quietly, staring off into space. “I made my peace with their misery a long time ago.” He hesitated. “Only — they’re the closest thing I’ve seen to a functioning marriage, and it’s not exactly something I want to emulate.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows at him, still trying to follow Enjolras’s line of melancholy. “So…you’re worried that you’ll end up emulating your parents and spending 35 years married to someone you hate out of some kind of bizarre obligation?”

“This is why I wanted a drink,” Enjolras muttered. “Because I know it sounds stupid.”

“Insane, more like, but luckily, insanity is something I can work with,” Grantaire said, flashing him a smile. When Enjolras didn’t smile, Grantaire sighed and reached out to rest his hand on Enjolras’s knee. “Look, if you’re planning on telling me that you secretly hate me and yet somehow feel obligated to keep dating me, just get it over with. I can handle it, I promise.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Of course I don’t hate you,” he snapped, jerking away from Grantaire’s touch. “I mean, I kind of hate you right now, because you’re being an asshole, but I don’t hate you. I love you.”

“And I, you,” Grantaire said calmly. “So then what is this really about?”

Enjolras heaved a sigh and shrugged again, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he sank back against the couch. “I don’t hate you, but…sometimes I worry that you’ll end up hating me. And staying with me because, well…” He trailed off and shrugged once more. “Because you feel like you have to.”

Grantaire stared at him. “Why, exactly, do you think I would feel like I had to stay with you?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras shot back, clearly frustrated with his lack of customary eloquence. “Just…I know I’m not the easiest person to be with sometimes, and I know you like to joke that you’re only with me for my body anyway, but—”

“What, you think that because you’re the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever had that I’m gonna stay with you forever just to keep you on my arm?”

Grantaire was clearly joking but Enjolras flinched, the guilty look on his face showing that the thought had indeed crossed his mind. “I mean, when you put it that way…” he mumbled, trailing off when Grantaire glared at him.

“Listen, I don’t know what high opinion you have of yourself,” Grantaire started with dry incredulity, “but between your arrest record and the fact that your trust fund is being held in escrow and everything else, if our friends weren’t so biased they’d probably tell me to run, and fast. You’re not exactly a catch.”

Enjolras gave him a disgruntled look and Grantaire smirked, letting him stew in that statement for a moment before adding, “You’re not a catch to anyone but me, anyway.”

Though Enjolras rolled his eyes, his expression softened slightly. “By all accounts, my parents were happy when they got married, and I just don’t want us to look back 35 years from now and see that we made the wrong decision to stay together.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Your problem is that you’re looking at it all wrong,” he said, as patiently as he could manage. “Your parents may have been happy 35 years ago when they got married, but that doesn’t mean that they had what we do.” Enjolras didn’t look convinced and Grantaire shifted, forcing Enjolras to meet his eyes. “Listen, if you can tell me with a straight face that your parents’ marriage was anything other than a marriage of convenience, then I might actually share your concern, but I know for a fact that you can’t.”

He said it with such confidence that Enjolras managed to relax slightly, and Grantaire reached out to lace their fingers together, rubbing his thumb comfortingly against Enjolras’s hand. “What is this about, anyway?” he asked gently. “Why are you even worrying about 35 years from now when I know that you’re probably going to try to get yourself killed at the rally on Saturday?”

It was an old argument between the two, and Enjolras just rolled his eyes, not rising to the bait. “I was just thinking about our future.”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment. “Ok…” he said, clearly aware that there was more to it than that.

Enjolras took a deep breath and told Grantaire warningly, “I’m not asking you now, especially not on today of all days, but…”

And he pulled a ring box out of his pocket and set it down on the couch between them.

Grantaire just stared at it, all color drained from his face, and Enjolras watched his expression for a long moment before telling him, quickly, “I’m not asking now, I just — this is where I see this going. I get it if it’s too early or whatever—”

He reached out to grab the ring box, but Grantaire stopped him, his hand resting lightly on top of Enjolras’s. “It’s not too early,” he said softly. “This has been a forever thing for me from the beginning. You know that. I just — I didn’t think you wanted that.”

“Which part?” Enjolras asked, his brow furrowed. “Marriage, or forever?”

“Both.”

Enjolras shrugged and did pick up the ring box then, cramming it unceremoniously back into his jeans pocket. “Well, now you know,” he said, a little uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, a grin spreading slowly across his face. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Enjolras’s expression softened and he reached out to tug Grantaire to him, automatically reaching up to run his fingers through Grantaire’s dark curls, smiling when Grantaire leaned his head against his shoulder. “We’re not your parents, Enjolras,” Grantaire told him, his voice muffled slightly against Enjolras’s shirt.

“I know,” Enjolras said, kissing Grantaire’s forehead. “And thank God for that.”

Grantaire snorted at that and pulled away from Enjolras, his expression suddenly turning serious. “You know, when you do decide to ask, my answer will be yes. So make sure that when you ask, you’re ready to hear that.”

Enjolras leaned in to kiss him, his lips curving into a smile against Grantaire’s. “I will,” he promised, his voice low. “I am.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire asked, grinning again, and Enjolras rolled his eyes and kissed him once more.

“Yeah.” Enjolras tilted his head slightly. “So make sure you’re ready as well.”

It was Grantaire’s turn to roll his eyes. “If you’d stop fellating your beer bottle for a moment and actually pay attention, you might learn something,” he said, his expression wry.

Enjolras stared at him. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked, baffled.

Grantaire laughed lightly. “I’ve been ready to marry you since the day you said that to me.”

Enjolras blinked in surprise. “But I said that to you…” He trailed off, searching his memory. “I said that to you on, like, the third day we met.”

Grantaire shrugged. “What can I say, when you know, you know.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Besides, I knew from that moment that I wanted to spend the rest of my life making your cheeks turn that delicious shade of red.”

Enjolras blushed, his cheeks turning that exact shade, and Grantaire laughed and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Just like that,” he whispered, before nodding at the ring box in Enjolras’s pocket. “When did you know?”

“Our first date,” Enjolras said easily, like he didn’t have to give it any thought, and Grantaire blinked at him.

“Really?” he asked, clearly skeptical.

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah. We went to that Italian place, remember? And the waiter asked if we wanted to see a wine list and I said I didn’t but that you were welcome to get wine if you wanted, and you just smiled at me and said that when you were with me, you didn’t need wine.”

Grantaire blinked. “Uh, ok, but if memory serves, I went on to order a bottle of wine anyway.”

Enjolras shrugged unconcernedly. “Well, it’s the thought that counts,” he said, grinning. “Besides, I think it was the first time you had said something to me without even a trace of sarcasm or cynicism, which told me there might be hope for you after all.”

“There is that, I suppose,” Grantaire muttered, but a smile was stretching across his face and he was looking at Enjolras as if he had never quite seen him before. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Enjolras told him. “And 35 years from now, I know that I’ll love you just as much. Because we are nothing like my parents.”

Grantaire clearly wanted to make a glib comment at that but he settled for leaning in and kissing Enjolras. “I know,” he whispered, echoing Enjolras’s words back to him as he snuggled up against him and laid his head against Enjolras’s chest again. “And thank God for that.”


End file.
